Lullaby of Screams
by Dawn96
Summary: A perfect world was a place where medicine was available, bandages were existent and warm water- at least warm water- was there to use. Cold War.


**Lullaby of Screams**

* * *

The screams were guttural and rasping, like a scratched knife grinding against the flesh of one's throat. Hungary felt shivers run up her spine as the screams grated her ears, the hairs piercing up all over her body and her nails feeling as if they had been grit against the walls. She shuddered sharply and curled into a small, small ball, her knees pressed up against her chest as she gripped the ever so thin covers to her chest.

A deadly silence, the sounds of clattering metal, before the screams resumed.

She didn't sleep that night and didn't leave her room to check. She knew full well what was happening- it was too often not to realize- and at times like this, she wondered how on earth she got here.

How on earth did she reach a stage where her country was not even hers, where she bowed like a slave, where every word she uttered was a noose tied around her neck?

She didn't know what time it was but she knew it was late and, with fatigue gripping her bones, she fell asleep to the deadly lullaby of tortured screams.

* * *

She woke when the sunlight was dim and faint, like a ghost stalking the horizon. The water was icy and her coat was ragged, thin and holed. But at least it was something, right? She walked down the silent hallway of the icy house she was forced to live in, before something caught her eye and made her stop.

Dripping down from the handle of the door was blood.

It rippled against the small pool that grew from the edge of the door, vivid and red and fresh. Hungary swallowed as the metallic odor trickled into her nose before she continued walking away to where the pale, lonely kitchens stood.

She stopped once more.

She knew who was inside. She knew he had been screaming all night. She knew he was still in torturous, ravaged pain.

She walked back, pressing her hand against the cold handle as blood stained her fingers, and stepped inside.

The pungent scent of blood slapped her on the face, making her swoon and grip the door for support. She focused her hazed eyes on the room around her-

Blood on the mirror, blood on the bed, blood on the floors and blood oh so red.

She felt bile rise up her throat.

On the floor, cut down like a puppet without strings, was Romania.

His arm was bent a leaking, his leg was drenched in red. His chest was a canvas of mutilation as scarred skin began to knot into vicious welts and swells, red bulging and mixing with infected pus. His nails were all bitted, framed by a crimson border as the scars crept up his thin arms, noosed around his pale neck and danced across his slim face.

His face was crying of blood, but the eeriest thing was how his dimmed scarlet eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

Like the dead.

Hungary felt her legs shake, threatening to give away.

She was stronger than this, she chided herself, she has seen atrocious things through her painfully long life- she-

His eyes slid towards her, like creaking iron harsh with rust hissing as it clattered to the ground, but his expression- dead- remained unmoving. She stood there, staring at the man she had always labeled her enemy. The man who made her heart burst with livid hate. The man who endlessly fought against her, making her hurt and making her bleed, stripping her dignity and laughing…

And her heart broke a little.

If he could move, he would've been at her feet, begging for help.

Was this what the world was making of them?

Was this how they were all breaking?

Was this how she looked when Poland found her, bloodless and faint, unable to move and unable to see?

"It hurts."

His voice was a disaster- as though it was a broken radio.

She gave him a very small nod, unable to move anymore than that, and turned away into the frosty, lonely hallway.

* * *

It was the only hot water she could find and she had to make sure it was enough. She rubbed the ragged towel on the stained skin and gently dabbed the marred wounds that were to inhuman to be real. His eyes winced but his body remained useless, as if it was too tired to register anymore pain.

The bowl was vicious red and the water was quickly cooling. There was no more hot water through the house and if she took some more, she'd be questioned. And by questioned, it definitely involved a stain on her skin- something she had grown exhausted of. All the while she cleaned, Romania remained silent, not even looking at her as he chose to stare at the ceiling up ahead.

She peeled off the ripped shirt, trying to block out the grated hisses as the sticky blood held onto the cloth like glue, and pressed her fingers delicately against the mouths of leaking scarlet. The warm blood stained her fingers, oozing between them, and the pungent smell wafted into her head until she was sure her brain was swimming in it. She had little medicines to heal with, no bandages and no warm blankets to cover his cold, icy body.

But the tiny bottle of antiseptic, the lukewarm bowl of water and the rags she collected from the kitchen were something at least.

He wasn't exactly clean by the time she had finished rubbing away the blood. Some were dried, caked and thick in some areas, especially by his thighs and chest, that she caught hapless tears dripping down his dead eyes when she tried to pry them off. His hair was knotted and glued with scarlet and his nails were a horrific scene on their own- she shuddered when she touched them.

As she wrapped the wounds with rags dipped in antiseptic, she wondered if this was truly happening. Had she ever imagined she'd sit by Romania of all people, helping him, and feeling her chest break every time he took in a shaky, unstable breath?

Would he ever do the same for her?

He couldn't move.

She brought in her own blanket from her room and set it on the floor beside him. It would get stained, she thought bitterly as she draped his icy, naked body with the thin cloth. She'd have to clean it with her own soap in dead-cold icy water which was labor on its own. But Poland didn't mind when he donated blood to her and Prussia didn't mind when he had her sleep next to him every night from the cold.

When you're all alone, selfishly keeping what is yours, you realize that the only way to survive was to be depended on and to depend on others.

The pillow was clean though, so she placed it under his head and tucked in the covers like a mother does a child before pushing the hairs away from his face. His eyes remained staring, hooded and black and the tenseness was still taut all over his body.

Clasping his hand in her own callused one she said, "I'll stay here until you wake up. Don't worry."

Automatically, as if her words were a switch, he closed his eyes and slept.

She gripped his hand, stroked his face and cleaned the blood knots in his hair. For hours she sat, her knees numbing, on the floor until the sun rose and fell into the horizon. Romania did not stir, but his rising and sinking chest assured her that he was fine.

Prussia'll have to figure out that he'd be sleeping alone for the night, she thought as she slowly laid down next to the Romanian on the cold, hard floor. She curled close to him, her fingers still laced with his own, and closed her eyes thinking of a time when medicine was available, bandages was existent and warm water- at least _warm_ water- was there to use.

A world that seemed too perfect to be real.

* * *

**AN: **

**Small historical note: This takes place during the Cold War where most of the Eastern European countries were under Soviet Control. Romania had a pretty hardcore communist leader and the people suffered quite harshly during those years- many deaths, many tortures, many imprisonments etc etc etc. Usually, when an uprising would strike up (and they'd get stepped on really easily by Russian tanks) some of the other countries (who were in the same web) would give each other a helping hand such as Poland during the Hungarian Uprising of 1956 (yes, the Soviets crushed them too), donated a lot of blood for their Hungarian neighbours.  
**

**So... I guess they have to help out poor little Romania at some point, right?  
**

**Apart from that, I just wanted to put a little interaction between Hungary and Romania. Started off as rivals, had huge fights during the World Wars, before they're stuck together in the same situation for around 45-6 years! **

***Little note, Soviet countries faced _a lot_ of shortages (empty food shelves, lack of meat and milk, not enough coal to heat up their houses...) and the countries under occupation (Poland, Hungary, Romania etc) had it _much_ worse than the USSR.  
**


End file.
